“Your father loves you,” I whispered. My father loved me too. We were never in danger, I realized. Not with a father’s love and protection. That was why Lady Catherine had murdered mine.
Auguste nodded. “I knew he did. That’s what I was trying to tell you. That even if the court dismissed me, he never did. He loved my mother, and he loves me. He could have sent me away years ago, but instead I was always right by his side, with Louis.”
“I should have believed you,” I said. “You told me to trust you. That you would find a way.”
“I did,” he said, smiling. “But you are very stubborn.”
We laughed together.
He continued his story. “And I do have an estate. It’s been a challenge learning how to manage it in the last few weeks. But I’m glad to have it. My new duties will require me to reside there for most of the year. I’ll be able to get away from Versailles for months at a time. What heaven that will be.”
“It sounds like the perfect place to start a family. I’m sure you’ll be very happy there.”
Auguste looked at me strangely. There was surprise on his face. Had I said something rude? I didn’t think so. What I said was perfectly neutral, and I would remain so throughout our conversation.
Maybe he was just nervous about my reaction to the news. He didn’t have to worry. I would take it bravely and cry about it later. There was no use making him feel guilty about something that was beyond his control.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Auguste said in a choked voice. After he cleared his throat, he continued. “Why don’t we sit? Let’s sit.”
Auguste led me to a bench nestled between two large orange trees and lowered himself quickly, staring at me expectantly until I took a seat beside him. The moment I’d been dreading. I had a whole speech worked out in my head detailing why I couldn’t attend the wedding. I would be regretful but firm, offer him my warmest congratulations, and take my leave, begging fatigue as the reason.
But this day once again did not go according to plan. As soon as I sat down, Auguste leaned forward and kissed me. I kissed him back, and it took me a moment to realize what was going on, but when I did, I grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away.
“What are you doing? Are you mad?” I cried as I scooted to the other end of the bench.
Auguste held his hands up placatingly and said, “I’m sorry. I’m far too impulsive, but seeing you makes me want to kiss you.”
“What are you talking about? Your behavior is completely inappropriate for a man about to be wed.”
Auguste seemed confused.
I was confused.
There was no reason for him to be confused. He was the one behaving strangely, not me.
He tilted his head at me. “It isn’t that inappropriate. No one is going to begrudge a betrothed couple stealing a few kisses in the gardens.”
“Yes, a betrothed couple. Not one half of the couple and someone else. It isn’t right.”
“I don’t understand you, Cendrillon. What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that it’s inappropriate to kiss me when you’re about to marry another woman.” I spoke slowly so that there would be no way Auguste could misinterpret my meaning, but he still looked confused.
“Another woman?” he asked, recoiling from me as if I’d said something revolting.
“Are you . . . ? You’re not . . . ? Aren’t you marrying another woman in a few months?”
“No! Of course not. What in the world gave you that idea?”
I felt like I was trapped in the middle of the Labyrinth, hopelessly turned around, with no one to guide me to safety. Auguste and I were having two different conversations, and I wasn’t sure whose was correct, or if either of them was.
“I just came from a meeting with your brother and the king in the throne room. After all of the matters with Lady Catherine were sorted, Louis told me that you wanted to see me so that you could invite me to your wedding. I assumed that it was a condition of your legitimization. Was he lying? Are you not getting married?”
Auguste dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “That idiot. That spoiled, selfish idiot,” he mumbled into his hands.
When Auguste didn’t emerge from his hands, I tapped him on the shoulder a few times. My mouth was painfully dry, and my stomach was beginning to turn. It was a terrible feeling to not know what was going on. I couldn’t handle any more surprises. My nerves were strained enough as it was. “Auguste, if you don’t tell me what’s going on right now, I’m going to get up and leave.”
He finally lifted his head up from his hands and looked at me. “Louis was making a joke when he said that I wanted to invite you to my wedding. He’s always thought himself to be quite funny. He isn’t funny, but he’s the dauphin, so everyone puts up with it.”
“So, you aren’t getting married, then.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
Auguste sighed and scooted closer to me, taking my hands in his. I allowed it, but only as long as he actually told me what was happening. My threat to leave was serious. I was in no mood for games.
“As part of naming me a legitimate heir, the king required me to agree to get married right away. A duc needs a duchesse, and he thought, after all the turmoil of the last few weeks, two royal weddings would sufficiently placate the skittish nobles, who are always looking for weakness in the royal family. But he has allowed me to pick whom I want to marry. Luckily, he enthusiastically approved of my choice. He considered allowing this marriage to be part of his efforts to make amends to a girl and an old friend that he allowed to be hurt under his watch. He also thought it was amusing that I had won the heart of someone Louis wanted for himself. I told you: I am his favorite.”
“So you have to be married.” I could feel my heart beating out a staccato rhythm inside my chest as it sent blood surging through my veins. My breath hitched in my throat. I involuntarily squeezed Auguste’s hands. He squeezed back. His grip was firm, but I could see the fear in his eyes. I’m sure it matched my own, if the burning in my cheeks was anything to go by.
His green eyes shone. “Yes, the wedding date is set, all the bride has to do is say yes.”
“What are you saying?” I could hear how wispy and weak my voice was. I wasn’t even sure how I was managing to speak at all. My head felt light and airy, as if I’d had a little too much wine at dinner. I was so mixed up, I could barely summon a coherent thought. “Tell me or I might scream.”
“Please don’t scream. That would make this proposal even worse than it already is.”